


Ba-Da-Ba-Ba-BAAA.....McThirium!

by emiliaf25 (emiliaf24)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Title - Krusty Krew Origin Stories, Anxious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Chaotic Feral Collin, Collin and Nines and their incessant bickering, Collin is a little shit, Connor stole all the Good Boy points from them, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Gen, HK400 mention, Hank's trash sense of fashion, Humor, Markus mention, Nines is a Little Shit, RK800-60 is called Collin, RK900 is called Nines, as i do, even at the expense of his career, he'll never miss an opportunity to meme, mentions of suicidal ideation, that should be my personal tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliaf24/pseuds/emiliaf25
Summary: Shaolin came by for a visit one day, took one look at Hank’s pristine white apron, calmly grabbed Connor’s hand and speed walked the two of them the fuck out of there.“I don’t want to alarm you Connor,” his remarkably brave and extremely misinformed friend had said, “but Hank is eating androids.”And it took literal hours to convince him otherwise.or:Connor decides to forge a new path in life. He doesn't expect Hank to come along with him.
Relationships: Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	Ba-Da-Ba-Ba-BAAA.....McThirium!

“Bon appétit!”

Hank lifted the stainless steel dome plate cover with a flourish, at last revealing the food he had been slaving over for the past thirty minutes.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Connor marveled at the dish before him. It was a perfectly made (at least in appearance) burger. Something you would see at a backyard barbeque, or on a menu at any fast food place - photoshopped to hell and back to _really_ get those endorphins stimulated. But there was one big difference between this burger and the ones you could get at your local McBurgy n’ Fries. 

This burger was completely blue. 

Blue as the sky, the ocean, as the life fluid flowing through Connor’s faux veins…the buns, the patty, the cheese, the lettuce pickles tomatoes…all of it was in various shades of thirium blue. To a human it probably looked more like an art piece, if not something inedible in general. To an android well… Connor supposed _objectively_ it would look very tasty to them. Collin and Nines, sitting on either side of him, both made noises of interest as Hank revealed their burgers in a similar fashion.

Connor, unfortunately, could not bring himself to concentrate properly on the aesthetics, because he was currently battling his desire to be supportive of Hank’s new venture in android cooking, and his insurmountable rising dread at being a taste tester.

Because it was not very long ago that Connor and Hank’s positions had been [reversed](https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/post/189848522969/on-the-seventh-day-of-christmas-my-android-son), and Hank’s stomach had paid for it dearly. 

And so had Hank’s toilet. And so had Connor’s budding aspirations to ever be a chef.

Now, Connor did not believe that Hank would be so petty as to make these burgers disgusting on purpose. He had made it very clear that he wasn’t angry, and that he understood Connor’s intentions were entirely pure. But for some reason Connor simply could not shake the feeling that a heavy cloud of karmic justice was looming over him. Swelling steadily and soon to burst.

A glance up at Hank, and registering his poor attempt to appear indifferent to their feedback, was just the encouragement Connor needed to shove away his lingering trepidation, and also served as a stark reminder of how they got here in the first place.

A few weeks ago Connor had turned in his official resignation papers to the DPD. 

It was not a decision he had come to lightly. He’d… _agonized_ over it. From the moment the idea had started gaining traction in his mind, all the way up to the very day he had handed in his badge. Part of ~~most of~~ that anxiety stemmed from how the people closest to him would react. The very thought of disappointing them or making them angry kept him up at night. During the day a large chunk of his processing power was diverted to coming up with suitable responses to pre-constructed arguments. It was all he could think about. His fear had consumed him to the point that the only outcome he could foresee was a negative alteration of all of his relationships. So when he’d finally done the deed, he had braced himself for the worst…

…and, as was often the case when Connor’s anxiety took the helm of his rationale, there was little to nothing to brace himself against.

Collin and Nines were relieved, primarily, and hopeful that Connor would choose a less stress inducing job (Cotton candy making assistant was one of their top suggestions); Markus was happy to see him exploring any kind of career opportunity in general; his Self Defense Class was ecstatic, because he told them this meant he would be holding lessons on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays in addition to his normal Sunday lessons; and Hank quit right along with him.

It was a good thing Connor didn’t need to breathe, because if he were human then all the questions he shouted at Hank, back to back and with increasing indecipherability as he steadily worked himself up, would have surely caused him to pass out. It was also just as well that no one else was in the house at the time, since adding Nines and Collin into the situation would have exacerbated things exponentially. Sixty-five days had passed since the last fire was set in the Anderson household and God, Jesus, and Markus’ Dolce and Gabbana Ascot _help_ the poor soul to break that streak.

“Look kid, I’ll be honest with you,” Hank had said after finally getting Connor to shut his trap. He’d bristled a bit, but quickly bit back a retort - feeling slightly guilty for his hypocritical behavior. Questioning incessantly, after all, was the exact same treatment he had been fearing Hank would subject him to. “I’ve had one foot out the door ever since Cole….since Cole. Hell, if I’m bein’ _real_ honest here, probably since the Red Ice Task Force got disbanded. The only reason I stayed on was ‘cuz I figured if I let my guard down at a job like that, I’d have a higher chance of getting killed.”

Hank had shrugged then, never one to sugar coat anything, least of all any faults in his own character. And Connor was obviously not unfamiliar with Hank’s old passive suicidal behavior - the excessive drinking, the unhealthy eating habits, the games of Russian Roulette - but he had never thought to put Being A Homicide Detective in that category.

There was…a lot to unpack in that reveal of information. Connor wasn’t sure how to feel at that moment. Shock was currently winning out. Despair, however, was an ever creeping contender.

“But you…” Connor paused, making an attempt not to overanalyze and blurt out his every feeling, though the urge to do so was so strong. They’d gotten much better at navigating through these types of conversations, the two of them, but they were never easy. “You don’t still feel that way now, do you?”

“No no no no.” Hank casually waved Connor’s words away like writing on a chalkboard. “I’ve been pretty good about that since…ya know, everything.” He gave another lazy gesture, pointing between himself and Connor this time. Which, if Connor was not being remiss in his Hank to English translation abilities, was meant to encapsulate the three years of them knowing each other.

“Then…why continue on? Why didn’t you decline when Captain Fowler offered you your position again?” 

Hank blew out a huge sigh, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking up at the ceiling; sure indicators that he was going to say something that derived from “ _soft_ ” emotions, and hated every second of it. “Well,” he drawled slowly, “As you’ll recall, shit was pretty fucking crazy back then, and you kept sayin’ you wanted to get back on the force so _obviously_ I wasn’t gonna just throw you into the lions den by yourself, with no one to watch your back. Be a pretty shit thing for your CO to do, I think.”

Oh.

**[HE STAYED FOR ME]**

Guilt and gratitude warred within him; a toxic, bubbling mass settling heavy in his chest; surely clogging his throat and interfering with the components that allowed speech. Three years. How could Connor not have noticed that his own partner - _no_. Someone he considered to be his _father_ \- had been miserable for three entire _years_? Was he that much of an imbecile, so socially inept, that he completely missed the cues suggesting that Hank had been enduring this hardship for so long?

What was the point. What was the fucking point of being _created_ for the sole purpose of solving problems when he couldn’t even detect something so important - 

Connor’s HUD blinked static for a split second as he felt a **_h o r r e n d o u s_** sensation invade his left ear. He scuttled away, nearly crab like, shrieking “ _yeEEeeEEUK!!!_ ” amidst some unholy (and embarrassing) dial up noises. 

Once his mind got right and his vision cleared, Connor took in Hank’s otherwise unchanged expression and position despite Connor’s minor freak out. Unchanged, except for the finger he was holding up like a drawn weapon…

The realization of what just happened clicked even before his software finished the preconstruction. He pointed his own finger at Hank, eyes wide in betrayal and lingering revulsion. “ _Did you just give me a wet willie!?_ ”

“Sorry,” Hank said in his most unsorry voice. He even had the nerve to wipe his finger on his pant leg with his lips pulled down in disgust. _As if he were not the **offender**!_ “your LED was doin’ the ‘ _everything’s my fault I’m terrible_ ’ disco rave. Drastic measures had to be taken.”

“But Hank - ”

“So now that you’re snapped out of it I hope you’ll let me _con-tin-ue_ ,” he growled through gritted teeth. Connor found himself shutting up again, if only because this latest emotional upheaval still had him reeling and unsure of how to put his feelings to words, “and _say_ that I haven’t been suffering in silence all this time. I ain’t some fucking martyr, kid. I think we’ve been doing good work and I’ve been glad to do it but…I’m tired of this fucking shit. I’m tired of seeing blood and guts and people torn to pieces before I go to sleep every night; I’m tired of walking talking garbage shit fucks being let back on the streets because they’ve got money while decent folks gotta rot behind bars ‘cuz they don’t; and I am fucking _tired_ of bullshit in other departments just slippin’ on through the cracks, and we just gotta sit on our balls and turn the other way ‘cuz of goddamn _politics_ ,” Hank spat out the word like he wished he could strangle it. He let out a ragged sigh. “You know what I mean.”

Connor shared a grimace with him. He did know. This entire conversation would not be happening if he did not.

“Anyways…now that you’re fucking off to bigger and better things I’ve got no reason to stay on anymore. Well…Jeff’s probably gonna be pissed I didn’t just wait until my retirement but,” he scratched his beard, completely unaffected, “whatever, yolo.”

Connor very much did not want to yolo out of this discussion. Not while **[HE STAYED FOR ME]** blinked in and out of the corner of his HUD like a restless spirit. He thought there was more that needed to be said about Hank continuing a career he hated strictly for Connor’s sake, despite his continued reassurances that it was all “gucci”. Unfortunately, the older man kept bringing up all the different ideas and interests he wanted to pursue now that the DPD wasn’t holding him back anymore. This was wildly distracting (which was obviously the intention but fuck him it was working), as many of the things Hank was talking about were well out of the realm of what Connor would have predicted. Mushroom farming? Ballroom Dance teacher? Hank could _dance_? Well enough to _teach_?? Since _when_??

Hank was offended. Disproportionately. “ _Excuse_ the _fuck_ outta you but who was the one that introduced you to Dance Dance Revolution?”

“Collin!”

“Oh. Well uh…Who taught you the Cupid Shuffle, then? The Cha Cha Slide? The Wobble? The epicenters of human culture! Who gifted you this knowledge, huh!?”

“Josh!” The incredulity in Connor’s voice could not be hidden. That Hank would even _dare_ to lay claim - had he any clue how many school rallies Josh attended!? There was no one more well versed in the art of line dancing than the most peaceful android leader. No one!

“Huh. Oh yea, I guess he did. Well I’m sure I was talkin’ about it in front of him…”

“….”

“So much of what you’re saying is _not the point_.”

Of those many interests that Hank rattled off, there was one that he seemed particularly passionate about. Something he kept going back to when researching things like professional fisherman and photographer no longer held his attention.

Hank wanted to open up his own restaurant.

Not one of those hoity toity places, of course. The kind that overcharged you for a glass of water and served tiny portions of food for 100 fuck you dollars a pop while trendy, auto-tuned music played in the background and it’s always bumped up at max volume so it’s not like you could hear the stupid waiter anyway and how _exactly_ do you get to charge for a glass of fucking water?? It’s not like Leonardo da Vinci gargled that shit and spat it into a solid gold goblet - !!

Hank had a lot of feelings about certain restaurants. Apparently. 

He wanted a hole in a wall type of joint. Somewhere that served comfort food for a decent price, where you could grab and go just as easily as you could sit down and get off your feet for a bit. Somewhere you could get some tasty burgers and fries that mama used to make. 

Hank’s ability to cook was not a monumental discovery, at least. If he wasn’t too exhausted from the work day/night/72 hour binge, and didn’t want to guesstimate if he could handle Connor’s latest health recipe, and Nines wasn’t around to make deep fried butter, then he would cook something for himself. Captain Fowler and Detective Collins seemed content to eat it as well - even giving praise in their own gruff and sarcastic way - during the times they had been over for dinner, so Connor assumed Hank to be quite skilled.

Connor, too, had always considered Hank’s human food to be tasty, but Mikael said that anyone who ate bowls full of mustard and peeled grapes did not get a say in what was good or bad human food.

What surprised Connor, however, was Hank’s determination to include android friendly food on the menu. And not just a few snacks or drinks (a tactic many restaurants and stores used as more of a gimmick than an effort in inclusivity), but full course meals and appetizers that made up half of the selection.

For weeks Hank practiced various android cooking techniques, working on his craft in the kitchen at all hours of the day and night. Connor was deeply moved by Hank’s dedication to genuinely include androids in generally human oriented social spaces. It was for this reason that Connor tried his best not to complain when Hank would startle him out of stasis at 2AM, muttering madly about recipes that came to him in a dream, or about the smell of burnt thirium that was becoming so common place that it was starting to permeate through the furniture.

Connor did, however, have to put his foot down regarding proper thirium clean up, after Shaolin came by for a visit one day, took one look at Hank’s pristine white apron, calmly grabbed Connor’s hand and speed walked the two of them the fuck out of there.

“I don’t want to alarm you Connor,” his remarkably brave and extremely misinformed friend had said, “but Hank is eating androids.” 

And it took literal _hours_ to convince him otherwise.

Thankfully, Hank wasn’t resistant to Connor’s teachings after that incident (he’d felt pretty horrible about the entire thing. Nobody ever felt good about upsetting Shaolin), even though it was an extra step of work. Not every android could see thirium after the initial evaporation like Connor and apparently poor Shaolin could, but in this case (when his clientele may associate him with an axe murderer) it was probably best to err on the side of extra Lysol.

Which brought them to the situation at hand. Connor resolutely compiled each memory of his own cooking disaster and set them aside in a folder (and set an alarm to release them later. Confining memories to folders for too long could lead to some fucked up dreams), so he could dedicate all of his processing power on giving Hank the best analysis possible. From overall presentation, to a breakdown of each food component, Connor’s report would ensure that all burgers in the future would be made to perfection. On his right, Collin was live streaming on his phone and telling all of his subscribers to visit his dad’s amazing new restaurant that didn’t exist yet; while on his left Nines was breaking off the pieces of the plate under his burger and eating them like jagged tortilla chips.

Hank smacked his forehead and rubbed it like he was trying to stave off a migraine. This might have been because not one of them had taken a single bite of their food during this taste testing session, but to be fair this was all very on brand for the three of them.

“Collin, will you cut it out with the video already!” Hank finally snapped when Collin turned his phone in his direction. “Just eat it regular like your - ” He gestured to Connor, then abruptly cut himself off when he saw the eldest RK800 delicately mlem’ing at his burger bun with an expression on his face more befitting a neurosurgeon. “Nevermind. Connor - stop doing that while you’re being _filmed_ for fucks sake!”

Connor hunched his shoulders apologetically. He did not, however, un-mlem, as he did not want to jeopardize the diagnostic report. He tried to explain this to Hank, switching to his speaker since half his tongue was plastered on thirium-bread and thus useless for discernable speech; “But I need to analyze each individual product before I consume the whole - ”

“ _Don’t say “consume the whole” while you’re on camera either oh my god!!”_ Hank threw his head back. “Jesus fucking Christ I swear all three of ya’ll were put on this earth to give me an aneurysm!”

After another pointed glare from Hank, Collin put his phone down, but not without pouting, and not without not turning it off. It was entirely possible he had removed the off switch from his phone. “Nines isn’t eating either!”

Hank whirled his glare onto Nines. Undeterred by being caught out, the RK900 took a particularly loud bite of his plate, the CRONCH reverberating through everyone’s skulls and spines. “On the contrary.” He broke off another piece and made eye contact with Hank. He must have seen something there - possibly exhaustion, statistically resignation - because he added with as much contrition as Nines’ vocal module would allow to emote; “…I will purchase you a replacement dish.”

Hank scoffed. “You think I don’t know your ass, child? You think a stack of mint green dessert plates with pink peonies just magically restocks itself every month? If a burger can’t compare to your favorite plate then I better quit while I’m ahead.”

Both of Nines’ eyebrows shot up, an impressed hum escaping him as he nibbled around the utensil turned appetizer. It was rather unlike Nines to be caught off guard by such a small thing, Connor thought amusedly. If anyone in the house was going to enable his poor eating habits, then rest assured it was going to be Hank. 

“ _Collin_!” Hank barked again as Collin not so subtly started inching his iGlass back up from its prone position. “Camera off!”

“But _Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaank_ ,” Collin whined, flailing his phone about wildly and likely giving his poor viewers some visual whiplash. “I’m just trying to get you some free advertising. Everybody knows that multi-platform advertising is very important for a new business.”

Silently Connor agreed. He felt a particular pressure to use every tool at their disposal to boost the success of his venture as his eyes were drawn back to the apron Hank was currently sporting. The old Windows XP wallpaper was stretched to fill the entirety of the cloth - an eyesore of bright blues and greens - while a large, grotesque head (that was either an inside out human or a horrific construct of charcuterie meats) loomed over one of the grassy knolls. Hank said it was a reference to an old Japanese animation. He also said it was hilarious and that folks would probably get a kick out of it if they saw it. Connor had to wonder if he even wanted customers.

At least the blood of Connor’s people wasn’t stained upon it as if he were the Sweeny Todd of fry cooks this time. So there was that.

“There’s nothing _to_ advertise. I don’t even have a building yet. I don’t even have a name!”

“Oooh ooooh!! Call it the Krusty Krab!”

“Oh ha ha you’re a real fuckin’ wise guy aren’t ya - ”

“You should call it the Chum Bucket for peak irony,” Nines chimed in.

Hank gave who he thought was his most sensible son a sour look, the betrayal real and alive. Nines stared back, breaking off another piece of his plate and very pointedly not his burger, as if to emphasize his lack of fucks and loyalty “Listen you little shits I don’t know who told you I sound like that stupid cartoon character - ”

“I have no idea what you mean Hank,” Collin said as if he had written and starred in Little Shits the musical. “This is a very strange thing to bring up in the midst of our helpful brainstorming session. Is there some secret voice acting history you want to talk about or…?”

“Collin if you don’t think for a _second_ that I won’t flood every social media platform you even _breathe_ near with shitty dad jokes - ”

“What _were_ you thinking of calling your restaurant, Hank?” Connor hastily interrupted, then clucked his tongue in annoyance once he realized that he’d pulled away from his burger before the diagnostic could be completed. Ah well. Such were the sacrifices to be made to keep Hank from having his threatened aneurysms. 

“I…hmm.” Hank crossed his arms, humming, calmed now as he considered Connor’s words. “Haven’t thought of it. Figured I should master the food part before I worry about anything else. Ya know. In case my shit sucks.”

“ _WHA bu_ \- Hank! Having a unique catchy name is integral in ensuring your business has long lasting success!”

“Where’d you hear that bullshit?” Hank asked flatly.

“From several reputed 6 minute life hack channels, one of which taught me how to change the oil in my car AND to clean the rust off of my chassis with toothpaste.”

“…Is that why I’ve been smelling mint everywhere?”

“Color us surprised that you actually believe everything you see on the internet,” Nines said derisively.

Collin rolled his eyes so hard that his irises disappeared into the back of his head and came up again from the bottom of his eyelids like a very sulky prepubescent slot machine. “Oh _whatever_ name six hundred and twenty-five things that the internet got wrong!”

“There is no such thing as a superfood,” Nines started listing without hesitation. “Activated charcoal is not good for you. Some of Taylor Swift’s songs have been the product of collaborative efforts - ”

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK YOU FUCKING SHOELACE -”

“ _Toilet flushes **DO NOT** spin a different direction in the Southern Hemisphere - _”

To the surprise of absolutely no one, even Collin’s stubborn ass, Nines went on and on, debunking popular internet “facts” as if he already had them cued up just for this occasion. Which was entirely possible, as Nines had a petty streak longer than the Ambassador Bridge.

By incorrect-internet-factoid number 36 Collin was shaking, hands clutching either side of his head - worn down from a valiant defender of his precious uncredited click-bait articles to a swimming pile of existential anguish. 

“Wolves in the wild don’t actually function through a dominance hierarchy - ”

“ _NO!_ ” Collin gasped. “Have all my inspirational pack metaphors been based on lies!? Am I a fucking fraud!?!”

“Will you both shut up and eat your fucking Smurf food I need to see if it tastes better hot or cold!!” Hank exploded.

“Shazaam never existed and Sinbad never starred in it,” Nines continued, cold and ruthless in the face of Collin’s helpless wailing and denials.

Connor viewed the scene between his family with growing alarm. At the rate they were going Hank was going to flip a table, Collin was going to cry, and Nines was going to upgrade into an RK1000 from Collin’s despair alone. Interference was necessary.

“Magenta is not a real color - ”

“Alright alright _enough_!” Connor boomed, slamming his hands on the table. “Collin - unique restaurant names are a contributing factor but not a linchpin to a business’s success. Nines….” he paused, then said with a bit more edge than he intended, “I never want to hear that dogs can’t recognize microexpressions in this house ever again.”

“But a majority of the evidence is anecdotal - ”

“Ever. **_A g a i n_**.”

His brothers quieted at last. The silence was a little broody, as the probability of them bickering about “ _who started it_ ” telepathically was in the high 90s. For now, that was probably the best Connor could ask for.

“And Hank…”

“Yu-huh?” he grunted, leveling Connor with his most unimpressed look. A most well deserved look, considering it had been nearly 30 minutes and not one of them had completed the small and simple favor he had asked of them.

So, smiling sheepishly and without further ado, Connor took a big bite out of his burger.

He chewed carefully, rolling the food a bit so that all of the sensors in his mouth could get proper engagement. Suddenly he had everyone’s attention. Nines and Collin ceased their mental battle, Hank’s grumpy demeanor dropped and abruptly switched to expectant. The eldest RK800 hemmed and hawed, before swallowing with a noisy gulp.

_Processing data……processing dat…..processing data….._

**Data Analysis: COMPLETE**

**[YOU WILL NEVER TASTE ANYTHING BETTER THAN THIS AGAIN]**

Huh. That was ominous. But also most likely true, as he found himself tearing through the rest of the burger (and new favorite food) in such a way that it teetered on the edge of caveman like.

“So what do you - oh,” Hank snorted, though his eyes were a little round with disbelief. He probably didn’t know that Connor could eat like that, but then again Connor didn’t know he could either. “Well, I guess that means you like it then?”

“Yes! It’s - it was…amazing. I’ve never had anything like this. That was really good Hank!”

As if they had been waiting for his cue, Collin and Nines started to dig into their food as well. Nines actually went “Mmm!” aloud. Connor had no idea that such a word/noise was even registered in the makeup of his system. Collin breathed “ _Holy shit_ ,” like a prayer, gazing at his burger as if it were a minor deity.

Hank stared at the three androids, a hesitant smile playing at his lips, as if he wasn’t quite ready to believe that he should be celebrating yet. “So uh…any critiques? Comments? This is the first draft here so I wanna get all the notes and shit before I start the second round.”

Connor blinked. He tried searching his database for something that would be helpful to contribute. Every time he started reviewing an analysis he would blank out, only to come to and find himself with a face full of tasty burger.

“I don’t know, it’s…damn.”

Hank scratched his head. He still had an air of bemusement to him, but now his smile was coming out in full. “ _‘Damn’_ huh? That’s a pretty good review, I’d say.”

“I do not have a critique, but I do have a suggestion,” Nines offered. Connor leaned a little forward, curious and impressed that Nines was able to think straight in the face of something so delicious. As expected of CyberLife’s most advanced model. “I believe that it may elevate your meal further.”

“Well don’t hold back son, lay it on - ”

Nines took Connor’s plate and put it on top of his own half eaten burger. He gestured towards his now transformed creation and stared at Hank. He did not say “behold!”, but everyone heard it.

“…Yea, no. That’s my bad for expecting something else.”

“It’s merely something to consider. Perhaps for the dessert menu.”

“I really don’t know enough about androids to dispute this but I _really_ want to…”

“Androids are _not_ meant to eat dishware!” Connor put in, shooting Nines the most disapproving look he could muster. “For some models consuming them could cause permanent damage to biocomponents at best or complete failure at worst.”

“Dessert _is_ inherently bad for you, so it is fitting,” Nines countered weakly.

“Fitting for a lawsuit, maybe. Sorry kid. We’ll only be serving food on the plates and not vice versa.” Hank said, causing Connor to sigh in relief and Nines to tsk. “Nothin’ says you can’t bring your own condiments though, if you catch my drift.”

Nines perked up at that. Connor moved his glare on to Hank, who only shrugged at him, completely unrepentant. He could just picture Nines entering Hank’s establishment with a key ring jingling with forks and knives and lighters in the fashion of those people who carried around travel sized bottles of hot sauce. The mere thought sent Connor’s stress levels rocketing into the 70’s.

“…that’s right, you heard it here first gamers! Straight from the chicken’s mouth!” Collin had his phone back up, holding up what was left of his burger in his other hand and his face in view of the camera. “Seven Michelin Stars! 20 out of 10! Best thirium burger in Detroit to date! If any of my beautiful watchers are ready for some _authentic_ android cuisine, make sure to stop by my dad’s brand new restaurant, opening next Friday - ”

“It’s _not_ opening next Friday! Stop giving people dates!”

“Stay posted for the grand opening,” Collin continued without missing a beat. “Make sure to keep your mind and eyes open for…uh. Hank we really need to work on a name if we want to keep the flow of my pitch going.”

“Well that’s too damn bad ‘cuz I ain’t got one yet.”

As his brothers took this as a signal to start throwing out random names (Human and Android Food Digestery - Nines. Bur’gasm - Collin) and Hank flatly denying them, Connor stared at his burger in contemplation. Describing the flavor truly was difficult to put into words, and not just because of some divine indescribability, but more that it was such a purely android experience that it would translate better into Binary - which was not only incomprehensible to Hank, but also not the most romantic of languages. What Connor _could_ talk about were the feelings the food evoked. The feeling of being welcome, of a lazy day. The feeling of not being judged, the feeling of being relaxed and comfortable in your own skin. The feeling of home.

“Hank’s,” Connor said.

“…it’s not a strip club Collin why would I call it Suste-nasty - !? Hah, what is it?”

“I think you should call your restaurant Hank’s.”

Hank paused, taken aback. “I dunnnnno,” he drawled slowly. “It’s a pretty ballsy move to name a place after myself, even if it ain’t the most original thing to do.” 

It was probably a little more than a “ballsy move”. It was a declaration that what you had to offer was so good you were willing to put your own name on the line. Hank seemed to be aware of that, if his hesitancy was anything to go by. He was a brash man, for sure, but not necessarily one brimming with self confidence. 

Connor gave him an encouraging smile and shrugged. In this case, every bit of confidence was well deserved. “Maybe so. But I think you can pull it off.”

The words “Hank” and “Shy” did not often go in the same sentence, but at that moment there was no other way to describe his smile, or the way he scratched the back of his head. It was an entirely endearing sight, and Connor knew deep down in his plastimetal bones that if he ever said that out loud he would need to leave the house for at least 36 hours. 

“…that’s Hank’s Fine Dining, coming soon! Bring your friends! Bring your relatives! Dogs, cats, ferrets are allowed - HEY!”

Nines grabbed Collin’s arm and turned the camera towards himself, so close that all the viewer could see was Nines’ face and his icy eyes piercing their soul and finding them wanting. “If you buy one burger you may have two saltshakers for free.”

Collin tried to yank his arm out of Nines’ grasp while Connor deftly got out of the way to stand beside Hank - no way was he getting in the middle of that. When Collin’s struggles inevitably failed, he tried to squish his face against his younger brother’s in order to push him out of the camera’s view. Though his effort was valiant, all he managed to do was mash their faces together, granting the viewers an RK-Picaso painting visual instead.

“Get out of the way! You’re not doing it right!”

“My research shows that this is an adequate form of promotion.”

“Your research is an idiot! Why the fuck would anyone want free saltshakers?”

“Research shows that diners often enjoy the process of taking snacks to go.”

“You absolute _clod_! Who in their right mind would want to bring home a saltshaker when the _ketchup bottle is RIGHT THERE!_ ”

“Did CyberLife drunkenly construct you out of soggy wood chips and pure dumb fuckery? An hors d'oeuvre is not the same as a _snack_ you _imbecile_.”

“Oh my God,” Hank said faintly. He was staring blankly at the arguing murder-bots, both of whom were screaming insults and nonsense into a cell phone, with steadily encroaching horror. “People are gonna think all I sell is glass as food.”

That…unfortunately was not a hyperbolic assertion. The more Collin and Nines argued about teacups and coffee mugs and which had a better flavor composition, the more Connor’s reconstruction software predicted people mistaking Hank’s future restaurant for a furniture store.

They could…it wasn’t too late to fix that. The restaurant didn’t even exist yet; there was time to correct people on any misinformation. Surely this initial faux promotion wouldn’t stick out in anyone’s head, forever haunting Hank for the rest of his career as an owner and a cook. It would be fine. Probably. 

“Hank’s Diner kind of has a ring to it, at least?” Connor said, patting Hank’s shoulder consolingly.

Hank sighed deeply, shaking his head at the scene - partly resigned and partly fond at what could be the downfall of his newfound passion before it even began. “Yea,” he said, turning to Connor with a grin, “it does, don’t it?”

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


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